First, I shortened the belt on a new, roomier fanny pack (What - Do they make these belts for giants?!)
No sooner did I unfold Lucille, than it began to rain. On went the raincoat (neck and armholes very couture). Riverside Drive was a fuming parking lot with steam coming off the car tops; but as a cyclist I could sense the rain already cleansing the air. And we had the bike path all to ourselves.
As the rain came down harder, two stranded commuters took refuge in a piece of art along the River. I joined them to sweep my bangs back into my helmet (curls can be a hazard in weather like this), and spoke to the cyclist. He was confident it would soon pass.
The first promenade, when we reached it, was completely deserted, except for this determined entrepreneur.
We rode to the end of the promenade, the rain driving into my eyes by then, descended to the River and began looking for a link to the next promenade - which appeared just as it should have (how did I miss this?), and into the Park we went.
By now, the rain was really coming down in sheets, rolling down the face, tasting like fresh spring water, the air pungent and cool with wet earth and leaves. My raincoat protected my core (more or less); everything else was drenched. But once you're wet, you can't get any wetter. I chanced taking the phone out for this one photo. This is at the end by the tennis courts. As you can see, it was pretty fierce.
Sensing encroaching domestic obligations, we turned reluctantly for home and as we made it down to Chelsea, took the opportunity to disregard EVERY SINGLE BAN ON BICYCLES ON THE PIERS!